Hit and Run
by PurpleBlaze
Summary: One dark, winter evening finds a seemingly lifeless form crumpled alone on an icy street. Is he really alone? [No longer oneshot]
1. Chapter 1

_Pre-story author ramble: I'm reposting this story because when I tried to post it earlier it said that it didn't exist. I think that this is story is one of the best works that I have ever written. I was sitting in class when it suddenly hit me that I wanted to write a sweet little ficlet that demonstrates that even though Johnny is dead, he will always be in Ponyboy's heart. I know it sounds cheesy, but it really isn't._

_Disclaimer: I do not own ­The Outsiders._

Tulsa was unnaturally cold for the time of year. Temperatures dropped to an all time low and stayed there as cold front after cold front swept in. Many businesses had closed indefinitely as usually warm Oklahoma was not prepared to deal with icy roads and snowy sidewalks. Practically every street was deserted in favor of heated homes.

One lone figure briskly walked down 8th Street, wishing that he would have worn a warmer jacket than the one he had on. He was relieved when he arrived within a block of his house. The boy, Ponyboy Curtis, would have enjoyed the beautiful night sky if not for the fog of his own breath blocking his view.

Pony heard the distant cracks of ice and slowed his pace to turn around. He turned around and began walking backward in order to pinpoint the one noise that interrupted the silent night. It was a gray pickup truck careening down the road adjacent to 8th Street. It had to be going 45 miles at least, in a residential neighborhood. Without warning, the pickup turned a sharp left onto 8th street. It hadn't even bothered to slow down even a little for the stop sign.

Pony could only gape in horror as this gray monster barreled down on him. He attempted to dash toward the sidewalk, but after he had taken one step the truck hit him hard. It was a surreal feeling for Pony to feel his body flying through the air up and over the truck. He hardly felt his torso hit the hood or his head hit the windshield. He wouldn't have even noticed how hard his leg struck the icy ground if it wasn't for the sickening cracks that went with it. All Pony could do was lie on the freezing cement in disbelief and horror as the demon gray sped away and out of sight.

Nothing hurt at first, so for one sweet moment Pony thought that he was all right and could just get up and walk it off. That though lasted for only a moment though. After that one moment, the blinding pain hit him full force. He couldn't breathe… couldn't think… couldn't see clearly.

In the corner of his bleary vision Pony noticed the still silhouette of someone sitting next to him on the street curb. Pony's brain felt foggy. He couldn't for the life of him produce a single lucid thought.

Slowly, so slowly, he turned his head to stare at this mysterious figure straight on. In an effort to reduce his double vision, Pony squinted his weary eyes. The person didn't move as Pony focused on the stranger's face. If Pony had been completely alert he would have been shocked at whom he saw; it was Johnny. For one sweet moment it was just like old times. They were just two buddies hanging out together on the street.

"Too bad one of us is dead and one is dying," thought Pony tiredly.

"You're not dead yet Ponyboy," Johnny said urgently, as if reading his thoughts. "You've got to get up right now before the shock kills you."

Pony knew that what Johnny said was true, but he was too tired to move. He could no more lift his limbs than beat Darry in a wrestling match. He was so tired. With finality Pony's eyes drooped shut.

"Ponyboy! You need to wake up right now." Johnny's voice was urgent with desperation. "Don't go to sleep, you'll die! Get up. Don't go to sleep. C'mon! Get up!"

Deep in the recesses of his mind Pony knew that he couldn't deny his friend of something he sounded so desperate for. He also knew that if he didn't do it quickly he wouldn't have the nerve to do it at all.

In a couple of seconds time Pony threw himself up off the street and lurched onto the sidewalk. Pony groaned at the new pain that ferociously attacked him. He fell to his knees and grabbed onto an icy chain-link fence for balance. Johnny was crouching next to him in an instant.

Insistently he encouraged Pony to get home quickly.

"Good Ponyboy, the hardest part is over. Now you only have to walk less than a block. You've go to get warm."

Sluggishly, Pony lurched toward his house. Every single step was pure agony. Every small movement shot furious pains throughout his brain and body. Throughout it all though, Johnny stayed right beside him: encouraging him, prodding him, but never physically touching him. A look of desperation and urgency never deserted Johnny's face as he pushed Pony to go further.

Finally, after what felt like days of one agonizing step after another, Ponyboy Curtis reached his front door.

Bleeding profusely from his head, torso and leg, Pony staggered to his room and collapsed onto the bed. Johnny hovered over him anxiously. Johnny hovered until he cajoled Pony to turn onto his back, nagged Pony to put a pillow under his feet and coaxed him to cover up with a blanket. Only after Pony did all this did Johnny finally seem to relax.

Pony on the other hand had never been so tired in his life. His breath was ragged and his chest was on fire. He looked fondly at Johnny through heavy eyes. He wanted to tell Johnny how he felt, but when he tried to speak all that came out was a gargled squeak.

Johnny smiled understandingly. His hand reached out and hovered over Pony's forehead without actually touching it.

"You're welcome," Johnny whispered softly. "I'll always be with you Ponyboy."

Pony struggled to open his eyes one last time to gaze upon the best friend he had ever had. Green eyes slowly opened to slits, but Johnny was gone. As he fell asleep though, it felt to Pony as if Johnny were still there with him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own __The Outsiders_

"Do you want to spend the night tonight Sodapop? Or do you want me to drive you back to yours and Steve's place?" Two tall brothers stepped into a small house that smelled faintly of booze, smoke, and body odor.

"Naw, I'll just hoof it," Soda said as he watched Darry shrug off his jacket and neatly hang it on the hook by the door.

"Sorry Pepsi-Cola. I'm not letting you walk home alone in this neighborhood at night. Not to mention the weather."

Soda grinned his handsome grin and pulled off his gloves. "I guess I'll go sleep with Pony. Just like old times."

The two men, nineteen and twenty-two, stood at the door peeling off frost covered layers. Darry finished first. He walked to the open door of Pony's room and peeked in. There was a lump under the covers where Pony was fast asleep; right where he should be.

Soda passed Darry in the short hall that connected their two rooms.

"So how 'bout it Dar?" Soda asked. "You need a backrub for old time's sake too?"

"No, I didn't do too much lifting today." Darry clapped Soda on the shoulder and continued on to his room.

Soda walked into Pony's room and began to undress. He made no effort to be quiet; half hoping Ponyboy would wake up and talk to him. Soda lifted the blanket on his side of the bed and slipped in. He reached for his pillow, but his hand probed empty air.

"What'd you do with my pillow?" He fake angry asked the sleeping Pony. He stuck his head under the blanket and found the location of the AWOL pillow.

"My head pillow's been reduced to a feet pillow? I guess that means we have to share."

Soda scooted closer to Pony and gently shoved Pony's head aside to make some extra room for his own head. He turned on his side to face Ponyboy and slung his arm over Pony's body.

Soda closed his eyes and relaxed his breathing. He lay still for a couple minutes. Soda frowned. Something felt wrong. His arm was… wet! He opened his eyes and pulled his arm out from under the blanket. He stared at it in wonder. It _was_ wet. But it wasn't water. No, it was a dark liquid. So dark that it almost looked like… blood.

Pure adreline shot through Soda's body. He sat up like a shot and threw the covers off of Pony's body. Even though the room was dark he could see Pony lying on his back. Dark fluid was trickling down the side of his head and stomach. His skin as so deathly white he looked like a corpse. _No, not a corpse. Never a corpse._

Despite how frigid and uptight he felt, Soda carefully leaned over Pony and wrapped his arm around Pony to support his back. The other hand gently cupped the back of his head and lifted him up until they were sitting up. Pony's body was limp in Soda's firm hold of Pony against his chest.

Pony's feeble breath tickled the base of Soda's throat. It was the most beautiful feeling Soda had ever felt in his entire nineteen years. He buried his head into Pony's greased-up hair and panted in relief.

After a moment Soda gently leaned down to place Pony back in bed. As soon as Pony landed on the mattress Soda was halfway to the door.

"Darry!" he screamed. "Darry Darry Darry Darry Darry Darry…"he machine gun yelled as he sprinted into Darry's room.

When Soda barged in, Darry was sitting on the edge of his bed like he was just about to get up. He had a drowsy expression on his face. The drowsy expression snapped into alertness when he saw Soda barge into the room with blood covering the front of his white T-shirt. Soda's eyes were wide and frantic. He gripped the door jam of Darry's door, and when he moved it a bloody handprint remained.

Darry jumped up and crossed the room to Soda in two large strides. He grabbed Soda by the shoulders and held him at an arms length to inspect him.

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Pony," Soda gasped.

When Darry saw that the blood wasn't coming out of Soda he pushed Soda away and strode to Pony's room. Soda was close on his heels.

"What happened?" Darry demanded as he went to Pony's side.

"I don't know." Soda's voice was unnaturally high-pitched.

"Pony! Pone!" Darry shook him on the right shoulder. Ponyboy groaned and shifted.

"Johnny?" he rasped. Darry and Soda stared at him.

"Soda, go get plastic bags, ice, peroxide, and every towel you can find." Darry deftly grabbed a shirt off the floor and pressed it onto Pony's stomach wound. "Oh, and a steak for his head too," he said briskly as Soda reached the door.

Later that night, Pony was bandaged, iced up, halfway propped up, and semiconscious. Soda and Darry sat on either side of him.

"Were you jumped?"

"No," Pony whispered hoarsely. "Truck."

"What, like you were in an accident?"

"No…hit."

"You were walking and a truck hit you?" Pony nodded.

"Who?"

Pony shook his head.

"We need to take him to the hospital," Soda said anxiously.

"No," Darry shook his head. "We don't need the state looking into this. They'll start asking questions. Even if we tell the truth they'll wonder why he was out alone at night."

"But his leg," Soda protested.

"I think it's just sprained, not broken. And if it is, we have a splint on it and we'll wait to take him to the doctor when he looks less like he got beat up."

The happy go-lucky Soda had an uncharacteristic dangerous glint in his eye. "I'm going to find whoever did this. And they'll pay."

Darry looked up and at his brother. "I know."


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm experimenting with my writing technique here. If you feel distant from the characters, that was done on purpose._

* * *

Pete Johnson stepped out of his house into the night air. Puffs of dark air gathered around his mouth as he exhaled long and deep into the night. His keys jingled softly in the silent night. Except for the ice cracking under his boots, the keys made the only audible sound. Both of the noises stopped abruptly though when he spotted a single orange light glowing softly at the end of his driveway.

He took a couple cautious steps closer. The silhouettes of two men materialized as he neared. One silhouette leaned against the mailbox, casually tossing around what looked like an iron pike pole. The other sat on the curb, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth.

Pete took another step closer. "Who are you?"

Neither man answered. The one on the curb leisurely plucked the cigarette from his mouth and blew a steady stream of smoke into the air. Pete felt a flicker of real fear creep along the back of his neck. There were less than three feet of distance between him and these phantom shadows, yet because the nearest streetlight was a block down the road, he could not make out any specific features.

For what seemed like an eternity none of them stirred at all. The only movement in the night was a single leaf that drifted down from a nearby oak. Finally the man sitting on the curb turned his head sideways to watch the leaf's descent.

The man on the curb waited until the leaf landed to finally speak.

"Nice truck you got there," he said, almost conversationally. Pete noticed that his tone had the edge of a challenge to it, anger even. At the words, Pete turned and glanced over his shoulder at his truck; the pride of his young life.

It was a gray 1961 GMC Short Bed truck. The body was straight with chromed front and rear bumpers, and three-speed transmission shifts.

Pete shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Uh, yeah," he finally said. "I just put in a new dual exhaust with chrome exhaust tips." The figure sitting on the curb just nodded.

The figure on the curb, Soda, was reveling in the kid's obvious discomfort. He took a long drag of his cigarette and waited.

The kid repeated his question. "Who are you?" And once again Soda and Darry chose not to answer.

Soda dropped his cigarette on the snowy street and stood to his full height. He was satisfied to see the kid back up a step. Very deliberately he put out the ember with his foot. He felt rather than saw Darry step up beside him. The kid glanced nervously at Darry's rippling muscles. They were something people tended to shy away from.

Darry walked around the truck as if he were examining it.

"Nice," he commented. "There are many characteristics that distinguish it from others like it."

Pete felt his old pride stir within him. Soda noticed this. "It wasn't a compliment," he said with hatred dripping off his words. Soda was not as good at hiding his emotions as Darry was.

"The color of course," Darry continued. "Red squirrel tails hanging from the mirror; the chrome edgings- like you already said." Darry stopped as if he had just noticed something. He ran his finger along a dent near the hood. "But where did this come from?"

"Uh, I dented it a couple of nights ago." All of the sudden Pete knew that that was the wrong answer. The very wrong answer. Pete had an uncomfortable feeling in the back of his head that he knew exactly what this was all about. The expression 'an eye for an eye' wriggled into a niche in Pete's brain. His heart sped up with fright. He would do anything to be far away from these two angry men. But he had another feeling that they would find him wherever he hid.

"What a coincidence," Soda drawled, "Because it's taken us about that long to find this particular truck."

At those words, Pete's on-edge nerves got the best of him and he turned and dashed toward his house. Soda was at his side in an instant.

"Not so fast," he said as he grabbed Pete roughly be the shoulders and yanked him back around. "We have a little demonstration just for you."

Pete could feel his assailant's fingers digging into his skin. He had a feeling that those fingers wanted to be around his neck rather than his shoulder. Him and his feelings; Pete's subconscious chose this night to work in overdrive!

Darry continued on with his talk as if he had never been interrupted. "Looks to me as if it needs something." Darry paused a moment. "I know exactly what it is."

Darry raised the pike he was holding above his head and brought it down into the windshield with all his might. The sound of shattering glass jarred the night out of its former stillness.

Pete lurched forward in horror, but Soda stopped him with a well placed kick to the stomach.

That is how it went for the next couple of minutes. Darry would beat on the gray truck with his pike, while Soda beat on Pete with his fist.

Pete was no match for Soda physically, so every time Pete struggled or tried to fight back, Soda would simply restrain him and beat him harder. "Who the hell are you?" Pete would demand in his pain more than once, but his two attackers didn't seem fond of talking at all.

Lights began to flick on in neighboring houses as Pete's anguished cries reached out. Darry punctured one last tire as Soda placed on last punch. They were walking halfway down the road almost in an instant. The two figures disappeared into the night as quickly as they had appeared. And as he watched, Pete could have sworn that he saw sixteen year old boy with dark eyes laughing silently at him. But he always figured it must have been a figment of his imagination.

Pete and his family never found out who it was that caused such extensive damage, and his family never found out why. But Pete always had a sinking suspicion that he knew exactly why it happened. And for the rest of his life after that one night, Pete drove everywhere very carefully.


End file.
